Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga) (5 page)

“
Indeed that is true, Kitara,” said Ka’Varel. “Your wisdom should not be overlooked, I see.” It was a compliment, she knew, but it also sounded like a warning to himself for the future, that maybe he would not divulge some things she might have the chance to decipher or think through.

“
But surely there are many possibilities with even those words?” asked Andrak hopefully, suddenly weighed by the thought of carrying the burden of future prophecy on his shoulders, however small or insignificant it might have been.

“
Aye, but we must take the more likely choice when there is an impasse, to give us the chance of bringing the prophecy to life. If we choose wrong, then we go to another and another, and hope those we get right are for the betterment of the final prophecy. Almost like glass. Many grains of sand are needed for even the smallest of windows, but if a few grains are not sand or impure, there will be an undermining of the window’s strength. Too many of these impure grains and the window will be useless, but if only a few there are, it will still function as should be.”

“
But are there also prophecies opposing the prophecies we would see come to pass?” asked Kitara with a pensive frown. “Do the Ashar'an have their own prophecies?”

Ka'Varel nodded regretfully. “Yes, but like the window, if we have more of the pure grains, we can still make the window without obvious flaw.”

The implications of this were oppressive, and there was a silence between them as they drifted apart, picking up the speed as Tyrun urged them forward from the rear. It was agreed upon beforehand that they would travel as far as possible the first day to reduce the likelihood of being noticed. As such, Andrak and Kitara were forced to ride with their hoods raised, even when they came to an Inn for the night, disappearing quickly into their room upstairs.

They spoke haltingly about prophecies late into the night, tired after the day's riding but enjoying the chance to speak together as they used to.

“
From what Ka'Varel has said, I think we are heading for dark and difficult times.” Kitara spoke softly, lying beneath the warm sheets on her side, cradling her head on her hand. “Do you think we will have much say on these prophecies he speaks of?”

Andrak lay on his back, bathed in the glow of moonlight beneath the window on the opposite side of the room. His hands were clasped beneath his head, and his eyes were closed in thought. He had brooded for most of the day over these mysterious prophecies.

“
I don't know, but I feel almost like a puppet. To think they tell what will come to pass makes me feel like a pawn, somehow.”

Noticing her brother's resentful tone, Kitara moved to reassure him. “But these Omens are only what may come to pass, Andy, and there are many of them, probably too many for Ka'Varel to copy into a hundred books. Besides, they do not refer to actual happenings as such, but events, like junctures. It is these that make the prophecy.”

“
I suppose you are right.” Andrak sighed, sniffing against the faint effects of a cold from the rain  soaked day. “Still, it is a humbling thought that ‘we’ need to do certain things, which will affect certain prophecies. Who would have thought?”

“
Not I,” assured Kitara, rolling onto her back and raising the covers to her neck. “Yet I would like to read that book of Ka'Varel's, to see what other prophecies might concern us.”

“
Well, if we are mentioned more than a few times, I don't want to know,” declared Andrak softly, fighting a yawn. “I feel enough pressure as it is, rather than have the weight of a hundred prophecies hinging on my every move. As you said, there are probably countless many of them, so we can just hope that what we do is what is meant to be. Besides, what if we are meant to do things we would rather not do? Would you not do something because you did not want to, knowing the outcome of a prophecy might hinge on it?”

The question hung in the air as Kitara pondered it, suddenly realizing there were many possibilities where the prophecies were concerned, and she did not know the answer to her brother's question. She would have liked to say 'No', but there were indeed things that would give her pause should she have the decision put before her, between desire and necessity. She thought of Valdieron then, strangely enough, and when she heard Andrak's regular, soft breathing, she rolled back over onto her side and closed her eyes.

Her thoughts were varied and oppressive as she struggled for sleep, and when she found it, her dreams were more so, yet they were the type that were numerous but not easily recollected, so when she woke the next morning, try as she might, she could not remember what she had dreamed of, only that Valdieron had been in there somewhere. Not for the first time, she wondered where he was at that moment.

In the ensuing days, Kitara was able to get the book of prophecies from Ka'Varel. Though it seemed she was reading nonsensical words with many of the phrases, a few made some semblance of sense. Many spoke of unknown people and places, as well as crucial events and occurrences at certain times that were equally enigmatic. She found references to the Elves and ‘The Lion’ a few more times, along with the Crown and Rose of their family, but few others were easily decipherable.

There was one focus of many of the prophecies, however, which seemed to be towards somebody of great importance and power, who would be the main force behind the crushing of the Demon hosts. He, for the phrases often spoke of ‘he’, or ‘the son of’, was referred to in the same vein as the demons and the one power that opposed them. Most often she found he was related to the Sky or Dragons, yet there were others, like 'Son of the Dead Race' and 'Flame Wielder'.

When she asked Ka'Varel who this might be, however, he merely shrugged and replied, “I cannot say.”

When pressed whether that meant he did not know, or could not say, the old man was equally vague. “He will come, however, and when he does we will know if he is the right one.” Showing this was all he had to say of the matter, Ka'Varel shifted to ride beside Tyrun, leaving the bemused Princess with more questions than answers.

Valdieron took another drink from his canteen, hoping to ease his parched throat, though he knew it wouldn't for long. It was not hot; in fact the early spring day was overcast, and the morning sun half hidden as it rode the heavens. There was also no end to the pounding in his head, which had diminished little in the two days since he had left Garthtown and the strange incident behind.

Yet he carried the harsh memories like a burden, wondering not for the first time their implications. He ran it through his mind numerous times, wondering where Kaylara fit in, and why the two thieves had been after his pendant and sword.

A soft breeze breathed on his sweat-covered skin, causing him to pull the folds of his protective mantle around him. He had perspired constantly since the incident at the Inn, and assumed it was a result of his system fighting the lingering effects of the drug they had used on him.

Luckily for him, there was no pursuit from the city, or at least none that caught the fleet  footed stallion. What laws there might be regarding self  defense were unknown to him, but he could not let himself be detained for what might be an indefinite amount of time. It had been self-defense, he reminded himself adamantly, and the two thieves had been the ones to approach him, sneaking in on him while he slept. He had struck the first blow on the first thief who reached for the pendant, but the blow had only been meant to knock him away. The thief may have even been still alive; depending on the power the Tear had jolted him with.

He was thankful there were only a handful of other small towns or villages south of Garthtown, and he wondered when he would reach the lands of the Darishi. The land had fallen away gradually, becoming flatter and harsher; rocky patches becoming more prevalent and the sparse brown  tinged grass littered with bracken and other stringy plants. There were few trees, often set in small copses at distant intervals, varying from towering poplars to other skeletal trees with arcing branches that may have been related to the Elm.

Game was also sparse, though when he took the extra time and effort he was almost always rewarded with a wandering hare or grouse. More often than not, the lightning  fast Kaz proved more effective than his bow, the great cat stalking their pray with the innate talent of his kind. He was only relatively new at this game, however, and most times he would fail, but he learned quickly from these mistakes that often meant hungry hours before the next attempt. The challenge, however, was to teach him how not to tear the animal apart when he caught it, or to give the catch up so Valdieron could have some.

Not knowing what to expect from the Darishi, Valdieron stayed on the road as often as possible, leaving it only to find shelter from the weather when necessary, to hunt, or find a haven for the night in a ravine or a copse of trees. From what he had heard, the Darishi were aloof as a people, though fiercely competitive between clans who had been feuding over land rights for many generations. Occasionally he would see small piles of stones heaped into a certain pattern, which he first guessed to be burial sights, but later assumed were land markers.

With no distinguishable border, he estimated he was no more than five leagues into Darishi when he realized he was being followed. Halted momentarily to take some water, the distant neighing of a horse floated to him from over his right shoulder. He spun quickly, expecting Ashar'an assassins or soldiers from Garthtown, but instead caught a fleeting glimpse of a mounted Darishi slipping beyond the far rise. Hoping he was just a guardian or watcher, Valdieron continued along the road, though he kept a constant lookout for danger.

He spotted a few more as the day wore on, but none came near him so he passed them off as watchers, though he made sure he stayed to the road. He made his camp by the roadside that night, lighting no fires and sleeping on the hard ground rather than in his hammock, as there were no trees within a hundred paces of the road on either side. He was feeling back to normal now, his head having ceased its incessant throbbing, and he no longer broke out in a cold sweat for no reason.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise when a small party of Darishi appeared in the distance two days later and galloped towards him, coming from the south  east. It was a bright, clear morning, the fiery orange sun not yet twice its size above the flat horizon, with a few sparse clouds to the south, which might bring a late afternoon change.

He reined Shakk in and looped a leg over the front of the saddle, trying to appear calm as he waited for the small group. With a soft command he brought Kaz to his side, the large Moorcat resting on his paunches, though he eyed the horsemen unblinkingly, his pointed ears twitching with each beat of hooves. He growled deeply in his throat, but obediently remained unmoving, even as Shakk's restless stomping drew close to him.

There were nine Darishi in the group, and he was surprised by their appearance, even though he had seen and battled against a few in the Trial of Combat in Thorhus. These riders were dressed in a variety of cured skins covering their torsos, and also wore thick black  furred capes fastened around their necks with golden chains. Each carried a short thick bow, nocked with silver fletched arrows, along with a weapon at their hip or hanging from the pommel of their saddles.

He noticed two of the young horsemen were both visibly and physically different from the others. They were young, a little older than him at a guess, and wore pendants, chains and rings that were both gem  encrusted and interwoven with plain stone, wood and bones. Both had raven  dark hair plaited over both ears and secured with colored ribbons. Both were tall and muscular, though one was even more so, and both carried sheathed swords, long and slender for ease of handling on horseback.

The thunder of their hooves dissipated with a cacophony of snorting and whinnying as the group drew short well within bowshot, and the two different men rode forward flanked by two others. The horses were magnificent, and Valdieron eyed them with the careful eye of one trained to do so, and wondered what a single one of them would cost. The two guards rode roan mares, easily sixteen hands high, with mane and tail braided and interwoven with gold and silver thread. Their saddles were of gilded silver bearing ornate carvings and symbols, while their leathers were tanned dark and also inscribed with strange markings.

The other two rode large stallions, one as dark as a cloudy night and the other grey like an inclement storm in the distant sky. Their tack was similar to the others, though gilded. They looked upon Valdieron with curious smiles, like cats looking upon a mouse with nowhere to go.